Last Sight
by vendingkind
Summary: "I want to be the last image in your head." Izuo, 1000 words, Rated M for Gore Scene/Eye Gore.


Gentle fingers, exploring about your face. They're soft, long and slender. They make their way to your lips, and they brush against your cracked and bleeding lips. The raven haired _demon _sits on top of you, straddling your hips. He's light, not heavy enough to be an overbearing weight. His eyes narrow, his expression devilish. Smirking, he leans down, his mouth inches away from your ear. "You always seem to be chasing after me, hm? It's as if you _want _me." He says. His voice is like silk. But you hate it. You hate it so much.

You try to lift your body, to at least sit up. You try to hoist yourself up onto your elbows, but he's too fast . Agile, and quick. He pulls out a silver knife, its blade as sharp as his tongue. He grins, holding the tip of the weapon to your nose, barely touching it. "Ah, not so fast."

You jerk away, laying your head back down onto the cement ground. Your head is throbbing, how did you even get into this situation? You should have chased him away like you always do; but somehow, you both were now in this alley way and he was in control now. There was nothing you could do about it, not in the state you're in.

He leans back down towards your face; you feel his chest against yours, almost as if he's lying on top of you. His hand cups your cheek, and his thumb brushes gently against the area under your eye. You close them, frowning. What's he even _doing_? Why is he being so god damn _gentle_?

Why are _you_ not even bothering to fight back? You try to convince yourself that it's only because of that knife in his hand. Or maybe it's because you don't want to waste the little amount of energy you have. But you really don't know the reason. Or you just don't want to face it. Could it be that you're actually scared? Scared of this pathetic little flea, that's been plaguing you for years on end? He did look quite menacing at the moment, you think as you open your eyes slightly. So close to you, such a threat. He could kill you right now if he wanted to. That's what you were afraid of. Dying, at the hand of such a disgusting creature.

You glance away, your eyes drifting up to the sky. You can't see the stars at all, its foggy; the air is full of a cold and chilling mist. City lights brighten up the sky a bit, so it's just a dark and deep blue. It's not black. You'll never see a starry night sky. Not living in this city.

You feel a sharp pain in your neck. It feels cold, and it stings. A wet liquid streams across your pale milky skin. _Blood. _You can smell it. He's cutting you. "Pay attention to me." He says. Jealous of a night sky, how pathetic of him. You turn your head, looking at him in the eyes. They're a deep reddish brown. You've always liked them. You like a lot of things about him. Maybe if he was dead, you'd like him even more. You hate his voice, his attitude, his personality. But you love those eyes. You swallow a forming lump in your throat, your lips hurt. They're cracked, dry blood staining them, making them a bright and vibrant red.

"I want you to look only at me." He says, his eyes narrow slits. He looks like a snake, ready to strike. He could kill you within a second. He leans down, pressing his soft lips against your own. It feels nice, he isn't being rough. Just gentle, a sweet kiss, but it had an air of dominance to it. He wants you to know that he's in control right now. He can do _anything _he wants.

His hand grips your chin, and his eyes widen slightly, you lift a hand up weakly to brush a strand of his raven locks away. He smirks, "Enjoying what you're seeing, Shizu-chan?" You don't reply, your mouth is too dry to form words. "I want me to be the last thing you'll ever look at." He continues.

He lifts the knife away from your throat, bringing it to your eyes. A chill goes down your spine, and you begin to sweat. You realize what he's about to do, and you start struggling. Its no use, you're too weak right now, and either way, one day he'll have his way. You're as stiff as a tree, and you begin to feel a sharp pain as the tip of his blade presses under your eyelid. "I want to be the last image in your mind…"

More pressure, he slowly digs into your eye socket, you begin to yell, scream. Cracked and painful screams rip out into the night. They're tearing at your throat. You want to cry, but you can't. Not anymore. A maniacal grin stretches across his face, your vision is blurred. He digs his fingers into the socket, the eyeball squishy and moist in his hand. Ripping it away, he tosses it to the ground behind him. He breaks out into a horrible laughter, you bet those eyes aren't as pretty as you thought they were anymore. Blood seeps from your left socket. Pouring onto the street. You can't really concentrate anymore, you don't even know if those screams are yours or not. You don't know if that laugh is real. The pain, aching, the stinging, and the burning, it all feels distant. You're in shock. You don't even feel it when he rips out the other eye. You can't see anymore, there's nothing but darkness. Numbness and pain. The feeling of his lips brushing against your empty sockets. The blood dripping down your face. He brushes your hair away. Gentle soft butterfly kisses dancing across your forehead. Then he pulls away, you hear him standing up in the distance, the heavy weight on your chest leaves. It feels empty though, its cold. You feel lost.

A snicker, and he's gone. You're alone.

You won't be seeing that starry night sky, after all.


End file.
